


Water

by junkienicky



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Comfort, F/F, Fluff, Mild Descriptions of Childhood Trauma, Romance, post-season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 07:28:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17658563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junkienicky/pseuds/junkienicky
Summary: Bridget entices Franky to face one of her fears.





	Water

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note:** Just some fluff I wrote out. Another shout out to Lutefiskfisk! Enjoy.

They come here, once every now and then, as a sort of detour from the constraints they’d faced in the week. Always at night. Always deserted. Their bare feet dangled from the boardwalk, gently swaying unsynchronised. The half-full, half-empty bottle of Mazza stood near Bridget, awaiting its next sip. Both of them had their eyes gazing amongst the ripples of the calm sea - the moonlight’s bright whiteness simmering in their sights. There was a tad of a breeze in the air that summoned the composure between them.

It was Franky’s turn now to take a light swig from the bottle, giving a slight grimace to its taste that dripped down her throat. She felt good. She felt refreshed. Bridget seemed so, too.

The blonde produces a sigh-like noise as she leans back onto her palms. She considers the water momentarily, as if weighing one or two options. Franky notices this and lifts a quizzical brow. _What’s she thinking?_

The question doesn’t hold long, when Bridget pulls herself forward and loosens her jacket zip. The thin fabric slides from her shoulders, leaving her in a vest and rolled-up trackie bottoms. Her hands place to rub her knees and her tongue dips to swipe at her bottom lip.

“What’re you doin’?” It’s the sound of Franky’s voice that snaps her out of the trance.

“I feel like having a swim.” She picks herself up to her feet and smiles – her eyes meeting the brunette who was now glaring up at her. “You want to join me?” she ventures.

 _Swim._ Franky panicked and hadn’t thought about a direct response to the request, but the repercussions. Her eyes drift back to the beachfront. No yellow warning flags. No harsh tide. No-one around that she could make out in this dark, anyway.

“Nah. I’m good. Just you be careful.”

Bridget smirks. “You sure?”

Franky’s breath catches. _Sure as sugar_. Instead it’s a hasty nod that makes the reply. Bridget bends down to meet for a kiss and then, without much thought, she makes a jump to break the water.

The quick, crisp splash wasn’t startling, but Franky still gave a wince, feeling the flicks of coldness meet her legs. She couldn’t refrain from sighing in mild relief when Bridget resurfaced. The water bobbed around her swaying form. Bended around the shape of her body in reflections and motions that made the brunette slightly dizzy. “You’re crazy,” Franky says, and gives a shake of her head in disapproval.

Bridget could only tilt her neck back and gleam. Water trickles through the strands of her hair that looked notably brighter under Luna’s light. With a short chuckle, she asks, “Sure you don’t wanna join me?” That earns a shaky laugh from Franky. She imagines the harsh cold. The feel of it swallowing her whole.

She remembers back when she was eight and the sight of her mother staggering into her bedroom with a bucket. Ice-cold wetness being hurled towards her in one fast, angry throw. It felt like a thousand knives hitting her skin.

She remembers when she was eleven and bathing in the bathtub in the worst of her many foster homes. “Oi, Francesca!” twelve-year-old Avery barked, pushing her way into the bathroom. She thought she’d locked the door, then quickly realised nothing ever in that home got fixed properly. “Let’s play mermaids!” Franky hadn’t had long to even register the events happening, when the next thing she knew, a hand was pushed to her face and a strength was applied, forcing her head under the water. In the shock and amount of time that felt deadly, her struggle made everything much worse, and when it stung at her nose, the back of her throat and eyes until they were raw and bloodshot – of course, she could only panic more. It was human instinct of survival. To fight. But she couldn’t fight something that had no real physicality. No living conscience or being. After a painful minute and after the force was released, her head was shooting back out of the water at a lightning speed. A shell-shocked Franky’s chest wheezed, she coughed and spluttered and rubbed ferociously at her eyes to reduce the stinging. Avery just cackled and ran back out of the bathroom.

Franky brings her knees to her chest and gives a shrug. “I’d rather just watch you. The view’s better from up here.”

“Why’s that?” Bridget pouts.

Franky takes a moment and dips her head, accompanied by a hopeless lift of her lips. “I can’t swim,” she whispers, half expecting the blonde to reciprocate by laughing. Instead, Bridget just looks up at her, dumbfounded like she can’t quite understand.

Franky continues, “I used to be able to. Like, y’know…When I was really little. But then…things happened, and I lost interest. Couldn’t figure it out since then. Besides, bet it’s fucking freezing.”

Bridget doesn’t request for elaboration on _“things happening”_ and instead beckons her girlfriend encouragingly with an inviting smile. “It’s mild,” she simply says and adds, “and not that deep here.”

“Not when you can keep yourself afloat, I’ll bet.” Franky shifts on her bum, backing away slightly.

The blonde swishes around gracefully. “The water’s nice, baby.” Her voice is rich and thickly relaxed.

 _Probably the wine you’re thinking of_ _, not the water,_ Franky silently reckons, noting the psychologist’s tendency to speak lightly and freely while tipsy.

“Swim with me?” Bridget playfully urges, factoring out the probabilities that seem to only spin Franky’s mind.

“I’ll drown,” she replies lowly with certainty. The blonde glowers with disbelief. “I wouldn’t let that happen to you. You can hold onto me,” she suggests.

Franky replies with a blank look as she allows the scenario to play out in her head.

“I’d rather you just come back up here now, before you catch pneumonia, Gidge.” She earns back a chuckle from the other woman who continues to form arrhythmic movements, casting the waves around her into shapes and ripples.

“I promise you, it’s not that cold,” the blonde reassures.

Franky’s still unnerved and unconvinced. She splays her palms out by her sides – the rings that cling to her fingers reflecting the light that bounces omnidirectionally. “Could you just come up now, please?”

Bridget pauses her movements through the calm waves and bobs forward to climb back up. “I’m sorry,” she apologises. “I didn’t mean to make you feel pressured.”

A mild shade of guilt shadows Franky’s demeanour. “No, wait,” she blurts and timidly shifts herself forward to study the wet shimmering beneath her. “I wanna join you, I just…” There’s a twinkle of deep azure exuding from Bridget’s eyes that meets the brunette’s, and she expects the surface keeping her dry to vanish for her to plummet miles and miles, and deep and deep down. Franky swears Bridget could give Bette Davis a run for her money. “don’t  wanna get swept away,” she concludes. It wasn’t that she didn’t like water. It was that water didn’t like _her._

Bridget’s lips pull towards a charitable smile. “I’ll get you,” she promises and reaches out her arms. “Nothing bad will happen to you.”

The brunette takes her gaze from the blonde and back to the slow, crashing waves. She takes another glance around the perimeter, unsure if she should slide out of her shorts and tank top, or – _nope,_ she firmly decides against it. If there’s one thing she would ever be fined or rearrested for, it _wouldn’t_ be public nudity, for fuck’s sake. She takes a sharp breath, squeezes her eyes shut and dunks herself in without a chance for any further thought to intrude her decision.

Franky expects to feel immediately rueful and instantly frozen upon entering her fear. She feels the wetness take shape, repel and roll with and against her form. She’s enveloped with a sensation all around her that begins to make her breathing harden and her adrenaline increase. It feels like she doesn’t fit, and when her bones start to sink like stones, the brunette decides that’s her cue to squirm – or retreat if she even can.

That is until a pair of strong arms hug around her waist and guide Franky’s feet to find the sea floor. “I’ve got you,” Bridget whispers closely and takes her tighter in her arms. “Are you okay?”

The ex-prisoner’s breath hitches, as if contemplating the question. “I think so, yeah.” Her clutch gripping onto Bridget’s arms loosens as she fears to mark the delicate skin with half-moon nail dents.

“Put your arms around me.” Franky obliges, although in doing so, her grin is left lopsided. She feels rather awkward as significantly the taller out of the two, clinging to the smaller one as if fearing for her silly life.

Bridget was right. It wasn’t cold, per se, but it wasn’t warm, either. Somewhere in-between lukewarm and cool.

Franky’s eyes shift to the near horizon of light pollution from Victoria. The distance seems hazy, though the reflections in the water make the trickling light seem clearer and the tenseness that weighed in her body starts to quickly ease. She can understand, a little, why Bridget would like it in here. It feels like she can see the world in full-view clarity. She felt content like this, contrary to all the bad past experiences.

“You know, I’m never usually this much of a pussy, right? I’m actually really big and tough.” Franky cheekily grins, sharpening the charm of misty emerald within her eyes.

Bridget tilts her head, hums in agreement and chuckles with her lover as they lean in to share an affectionate kiss. “You’re doing great, baby.”

Franky dips her neck to peck a rosy cheek, illuminated by the white shadow of the moon. It was like ecstasy. Their bodies clinging together as one.

“You’re gorgeous,” Bridget husks into her neck, and kisses tenderly along her collarbone and places above the soaking fabric covering her chest. Franky mumbles something into the blonde’s hair that she doesn’t quite catch. It sounded like a “Thank you”.

“Come on,” the psychologist says, creating a swish as she breaks away mildly, taking Franky’s hand tightly in her own. “Let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> The flashback in Franky's foster home was inspired from a tevevised adaptation of Jacqueline Wilson's book 'Dustbin Baby'. I vaguely remember the scene from when I was younger, and decided to input it here. Any feedback is greatly appreciated :)


End file.
